


Crammed In

by ArcticLucie



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Daryl being Daryl, Lost winter, M/M, Pining, Pre-Slash, Sharing Body Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 12:41:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5375555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArcticLucie/pseuds/ArcticLucie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl's freezing when he gets done with his watch; Rick has preheated his sleeping bag.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crammed In

The crunching of snow underfoot is the only thing he hears as he circles the perimeter. He’s got another couple of hours on watch before T-Dog relieves him, and he’s looking forward to it. They’re taking shorter shifts to counter the plummeting temperatures, but no one’s willing to take a chance on letting their guard down. Not in this world, not after the farm fell.

The cold is already seeping through his boots and he’s only been out an hour or so. The best he can tell the sun set about thirty minutes prior, the twilight a muted grey that’s fading into black. It’s been hidden by clouds for three days leaving them to face an onslaught of frozen precipitation. It’s not supposed to be so damn cold in Georgia, but leave it to an unforgiving world to fuck them over when they are already getting screwed.

Good thing Daryl is used to toughing out a winter. His father never bothered with lightning the furnace and their drafty shack of a house was always frigid. They had a fireplace, though. Will would make he and Merle chop wood for it all summer long. They can’t do that now, stockpile wood. Instead they burn bits of furniture, books, or other combustibles. It’s not enough but it’s better than nothing. Keeps the kids from freezing at least.

He and Merle would bunk together on the exceptionally cold nights, under thin blankets Merle had probably stolen, but they made do. And they’re making do now. They found a house to hold up in for the time being with blankets and even a few sleeping bags they’d pilfered from a sporting goods store along the way.

Hershel’s worried about hypothermia, but at least Daryl’s got a jacket. Never had one growing except the one Merle lifted for him before he left home. It was an ugly thing, dogshit brown with a zipper that always stuck. It did its job though, so he couldn’t complain. Wouldn’t have done him any good to anyway. At least he has people who watch his back now. And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t better off for it.

Carol knit him some fingerless gloves one night from a stash of yarn she scavenged. They all had a pair within a week along with a few hats but Daryl had lost his in a scuffle with a near frozen walker he literally stumbled on. Thank god Rick had insisted on hunting with him that day or he might've gotten himself bit. 

Rick makes him wear his when he’s taking a night watch. It don’t mean nothing, he’s just doing his job, trying to keep their hunter from freezing his nuts off. 

Daryl appreciates it. He could protest, make a fuss, but the last thing the group needs is their only experienced hunter catching pneumonia. They’d all starve even more so than they already are. He’s not willing to gamble with their lives like that. And no one needs to know he looks forward to it, Rick’s scent trailing after him as he does his rounds. 

He’s worn a trail through the snow by the time he’s content enough with their safety to light a cigarette. He takes it in slow, hoping for some semblance of warmth to creep in through the blanket of smoke he pulls into his lungs. It doesn’t help, but what does is the hot mug of watered down coffee Rick brings him halfway through his shift. He would’ve prefered hot chocolate, but they hadn’t come across any in awhile. Rick had promised to keep an eye out.

Rick stays out with him until he finishes it. Maybe Daryl drags it out longer than he would otherwise, but he figures Rick needs a break from the group, from Lori, from the stifling weight he’s carrying on his back. He looks more at ease when it’s just the two of them, his jaw isn’t set so tight, and Daryl feels something akin to pride brewing inside. 

A lawman and a Dixon surviving the apocalypse, he still can’t believe it most days, but Rick’s different and the world is different. Sometimes he wishes he weren’t so different. There was no coming out of closets if you were a Dixon. You stayed inside or you were beat till you went back in. And that was just the way of it. He can’t see things being that different now. 

Even if they were, it won’t do him any good. Rick’s got a ring on his finger and a pregnant wife inside. So whatever he thinks he’s feeling when Rick looks at him is irrelevant. Ain’t no way that’ll be returned. And yeah, he had his suspicions that Rick and Shane had a history, but he can’t see that mattering now either. They were like brothers; Daryl’s still redneck trash, and unlike the world, that ain’t likely to change.

Daryl’s more than thankful when T comes out to relieve him. He can’t feel his lower body, his fingers are numb, and his nose is probably redder than a tomato. Everyone is doubled up for warmth: Hershel and Beth, Maggie and Glenn, Carol and T, and Rick had been sandwiching Carl between he and Lori. 

But he ain’t in his usual spot and Daryl looks around again. They are all bunkered down pretty close together but Daryl needs a bit more space. They all understand that, but he’s a little confused to see Rick in the corner he’s staked out for himself.

“Rick?” he whispers. His voice sounds too loud in the stillness, but he doesn’t hear anyone stir. He thinks about letting him sleep, maybe he and Lori had another fight, but Rick’s inside his sleeping bag and he’s cold as fuck. At least it’ll be warm when he gets in. 

He crouches down and nudges him awake, “Yer in my sleepin’ bag.”

“We need ta get you warm,” he says, and Daryl can imagine his bleary blue eyes from the sandpapery way his voice gets when it’s rough with sleep.

He has half a mind to argue when he hears the zipper, but it’s the coldest night they’ve had so far and desperate times have him biting his lip and slipping off his boots. It’s perfect inside when he wiggles in and zips them back up. It’s a tight fit, but they eventually get themselves situated, facing each other with Rick’s arm and a leg thrown over him. 

He’d feel too caged in if it were anyone else, but his brain is too frozen to process that, so he lets it go for now, lets himself enjoy this, Rick’s body pressed to his in some kind of tangled embrace that is only awkward ‘cause it ain't. Daryl knows better than to look a gift bag in the face or something like that. Even if it’s for one night, he’ll enjoy it, the warmth and the company.

“Christ, Rick, I think yer feet are colder than mine,” he huffs. It’s dark and no one can see him, but he bites back the smile when he feels Rick’s body rumbling with a silent chuckle.

“Sorry...they’re always like that.”

He shivers when Rick’s hot breath hits his nose. He’s sure Rick blames the cold.

“Gotta get ya some new socks or some shit.”

“Yeah, that’d be good.”

If anyone is surprised when they wake up in the morning cuddled together, no one says. Nor do they comment when they spend the rest of the winter crammed in that bag.


End file.
